


Notches on a Signpost

by Amikka



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amikka/pseuds/Amikka
Summary: After Terminus, after Grady Hospital, after Bob and Beth and Tyreese, the remaining survivors struggle on towards some form of salvation. Yet, with limited food and water, the strain takes its toll on one of the youngest members of their group.





	Notches on a Signpost

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small two-shot set between 5x09 and 5x10 purely for h/c purposes as the show (for obvious reasons) glossed over how exhausted and starved the group must have been; something that would be particularly evident on a child in that situation. Plus, hurt!Carl and the father/son relationship between him and Rick is always a pleasure to write.

The road stretched on, yawning beyond a horizon that they could never hope to reach. After Terminus, after Grady Hospital, after Bob and Beth and Tyreese falling like dominoes and threatening to topple the rest of their precarious congregation, their steps had never felt heavier. It had been days since they’d eaten more than a few mouthfuls and they had all watched with a heavy heart as Abraham tossed their last empty can of peaches behind them. It clattered and bounced along the asphalt before rolling to the verge spent and useless; much like the rest of them.

Carl sighed. Ducking his head downwards until the rim of his hat shielded him from the sun’s merciless glare, he resisted the urge to wet his lips for the fourth time. _Water._ Even that was getting low now. The futile hope that they would make it to Washington – that they would all make it to Washington – was becoming more and more prominent in its futility with each passing second. 

They’d been here before. That’s what his father had said. They’d been in worse states than this before, with walkers on their heels and survivors lusting for their blood. Maybe Rick was right about that. _Maybe,_ or perhaps this was just a different type of worse and the slow chipping of starvation at their organs, their flesh, their _bones,_ would be a far crueler death than one offered by any ravenous herd of the undead.

Hearing the gurgling whine at his back as Judith echoed his sentiment, Carl shrugged his shoulders upwards in an attempt to hush her; too tired to actually verbalize any form of comfort. Even his baby sister’s weight was becoming a burden and, for all intents and purposes now, she had become the Earth to his weary and half-starved Atlas.

“Here’s as good a place as any.”

Rick’s voice shattered the muted silence of their trek through the wilderness. One-by-one, their convoy slowed to weary stops, bags dropping to their feet like bodies falling into deathly inertia. As Tara halted in front of him, Carl allowed himself to do the same; his knees shaking and electricity seeming to pulse through his strained muscles. But it wasn’t a place to rest. The only time they actually rested was when they slept, and even then it was in a rota. No, this was a place to separate and go out in search of food. Not that any of their recent ventures had borne fruit; metaphorically or literally.

“Carl, you stay here with Judith.” 

The teenager nodded once in response, silently grateful that he could remain stationary and guard what little they still owned. It was mostly just weapons now, which, although once a blessing, was now yet another staple on an empty notice board proclaiming that they had. _no._ food. No water. Not a damn thing.

Because, simply put, you couldn’t eat bullets. Not until the one day you found that you could.

“Hey.” 

Unaware that Rick had been addressing him, Carl blinked abortively, forcing his gaze upwards to meet his father’s. He couldn’t see himself, but the concern flaring in Rick’s eyes painted a vivid enough picture. Still, pots and kettles: they were all making a bid to imitate the walkers they had left a day or so back on the road. Feeling one calloused hand resting against his shoulder – the bones prominent and brittle like a bird’s – Carl fought to disguise his near-emaciated state with a resolute nod.

“I’ll take care of her, Dad. I promise.” 

And he would. He knew how protective the group were over Judith. She was the ray of light in a world consumed by violence, cruelty and constant death. She was a beacon of hope that there was a chance for a new life where, somehow against the odds, they had the chance to start over. She was the child that needed protecting, even though the others had seemed to forget that her main protector was no more than a child himself. 

“I know. I know you will,” Rick replied with no small amount of pride; a facsimile of a smile that attempted to dispel the haunted ghosts taking up residence in his face. It failed. It always did now. Too many ghosts made living somewhat redundant and Rick Grimes had far too many spirits grasping at his heels, trying to drag him back with every step he took forward. 

Carl knew that when his dad finally let them, it would be over for them all. 

“Keep a gun on you at all times. Put the packs around in a circle, keep Judith in the centre. You get into any trouble, fire a warning shot. We’ll come running.” 

And so the protector continued his role; one issued him without his consent. Yet, regardless, he would have accepted it willingly. Judith was his baby sister. His dad’s daughter. His mother’s unseen child. Lori had given her life to ensure that Judith could have the chance to live hers and Carl would never allow that to go to waste. No matter what, Judith would survive. Which was why he had ensured that most of his food had gone to her; mushed up into vile-looking pastes that Judith gulped down greedily without complaint. Like Lori before him, Carl was more than willing to lay himself down and let his sister trample over him if it meant she passed safely over to the other side. 

The gun weighed heavily in his hand once the others had gone. Judith gaggled and flailed her arms a little restlessly inside the makeshift wall of cotton and nylon; placed there solely for peace of mind than an actual fortifiable line of defence. Still, it kept her from crawling away and tumbling into the verge at the road’s edge, just like a can of hastily scraped clean peaches. 

Carl pivoted slightly, both hands on the grip as his gaze scanned around the tree line. Too many trees. Too much cover. Too many opportunities for ambush. But it was temporary; every home they carved out for themselves – in blood, in tears, in sweat – was always temporary. The price to remain in one place was always too high and the bill rang a death toll in the ears of those who had been fortunate enough not to be the one to pay— _this time._

And yet, right here and now, it was almost serene. The walkers that had been tailing them were miles back and wouldn’t catch up for another day or so. They hadn’t seen any survivors since Grady, which was honestly a relief considering what had happened there with Beth. Survivors just meant more chances for them to be killed.

Carl sighed again. His fingers coiled tighter around the handle of the gun as he felt his hands shaking. The tremors were pretty constant now, forcing him to have to focus just to pick things up. Thankfully, no-one else had noticed. His dad. Michonne. Maggie. All of them had enough to be worrying about without assuming that he was too weak to keep moving. 

He performed another slow pivot, weary eyes settling on the remains of a signpost. The sign itself was long since lost, refusing to divulge any details of where the road led. Washington. Atlanta. _Hell._ It was a closely guarded secret now, devolving the world into a place before maps and directions; before chaos was put on a leash and dragged to heel. All that was left now on the leaning post were notches: some recent, some old, but all biting into the wood and ripping away vicious chunks.

Sometimes it felt like they were all just notches on a signpost. No clear direction, no instruction of where they were headed, but visible marks grooved into the world to show that, despite everything, they were still _here._

A loud crack to his right forced him to spin around, dizziness gripping him as he fought to aim. He locked his knees, tried to calm his jack-rabbiting heart. Walker. Survivor. Food. That was all it could be now and he was pretty pessimistic that it was going to be the latter. It seemed as though rabbits, deer, squirrels, _anything_ left that they could try to eat, had grown extinct, expecting them to follow suit. Well, they were getting there. If they didn’t find something soon, they’d be down a few mouths to feed. 

A head of vibrant red hair appeared and Carl sighed, flicking the safety back on. “Easy there, kid. Don’t wanna put a fresh hole in this beautiful mug.”

“Find anything?”

He knew already that the answer was a resounding no and he tucked his gun into his holster as Rosita and Eugene followed behind the former soldier. The latter looked just as dazed as Carl felt, but then that could have been less to do with hunger and more that Eugene was, well, _Eugene._ He wasn’t entirely sure the scientist existed on the same planet as them in anything more than body.

“The others might’ve had more luck,” Rosita offered with a kind smile, before she crouched down across from Judith and reached out to let her grasp her finger playfully.

“Oh, they’ll have had luck. We got it in bunches. Just that our particular brand of luck is about level with a steamin’ crock of shit fresh outta the back entrance and still a’flowin’.”

Carl blinked. Maybe it was just his age, but Abraham’s diatribes often clipped the rim of his hat and cascaded off over his head. He just never really got them. Still, it prompted a bemused chuckle from Rosita who seemed to transfer that to the baby in their midst; high-pitched giggles emanating from her throat as the Latina woman tickled her under her chubby arms. 

The others seemed to return in a steady cycle. Tara, Glenn and Noah next, followed by Maggie and Father Gabriel; the latter seeming to have ambled after her for lack of any other choice. Michonne, Carol and a despondent Sasha trudged out of the woods a few minutes after. And then finally, far off down the road, Rick and Daryl came into view. Meeting his father’s gaze, despite the distance between them, Carl saw the minute shake of his head and sighed. Nothing. Not that he should have expected anything else. 

“Everythin’ in the area’s been cleared out,” Rick announced as he reached their huddled group, fingers coiling around the handle of his Colt Python. “Looks like there ain’t nothin’ for miles. Now, I know you’re all tired, but we gotta keep movin’. Longer we stay here, more risk there is, ‘specially without supplies.”

He was right and, despite their aching bodies and grumbling bellies, the group all began to collect their packs again. Staring down at Judith, Carl paused, before snagging Carol by the sleeve as she moved to draw back. “Would you—Would you mind carrying Judith?”

Immediately, Carol’s eyes narrowed in assessment, her gaze raking over the boy and always seeming to see more than she let on. “Why?”

“I’m just tired. My back’s kinda cramping from holding her all the time.” It wasn’t a lie, but he was aware that it wasn’t the whole truth. Still, even if he waxed poetical about how weak he felt, how much he was trembling, how he could feel every rib beneath his thinly stretched skin, it wouldn’t change anything. They were all exhausted. They were all starving. He wasn’t special.

As Carol appeared to arrive at the same conclusion, she nodded, before leaning down with a tender smile. “Hey, buttercup,” she cooed, plucking Judith into her arms and resting her against her hip. “Guess you’re gonna be with me today, hm?” 

“Thanks.”

The perceptive gaze settled on him again; with less severity this time as concern settled along Carol’s features. She effortlessly seemed to dance between her roles as a warrior and a mother, and the latter was firmly in play when faced with Carl or Judith. “You need to tell your dad.” 

“Tell him what?”

“You know what. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Carl. He’s your dad, he wants to take care of you.”

Carl stared for a moment, before averting his gaze and reaching for his pack. His arm shuddered with the effort of dragging it up and onto his back and he exhaled heavily, straightening with agonizing slowness until his knees locked into place.

“Carl?”

“I know,” he interjected with a shake of his head. “But I do have to be strong. We all do. We survive together by doing our part, not by expecting people to carry us.” 

Without giving Carol the chance to respond, he turned, following after Sasha as they began their weary trek along the road again. There was little in the way of conversation. There was nothing left to say and, even if they were rife with topics to converse about, they were all too weary to formulate the words into coherent sentences. Now and again, Eugene would pipe up with a bizarre interpolation, or Father Gabriel would profess his faith in an attempt to raise their collapsing spirits, but they received no replies. 

Dead words to dead people. That was what it had come to. 

Carl had no idea how long they had walked for, but the sun had cascaded to the highest point in the sky before dipping down again until it brushed the horizon. A few more hours and it would be dark. They didn’t travel at night, which meant they needed to find somewhere secure to hunker down and defend until morning. 

Right now, he wasn’t sure he would last that long.

His vision had begun to distort at the edges and his body seemed to have grown numb. He knew he was moving, purely because the vibrations of his footsteps rocketed through his starved frame, but he wasn’t really aware of it. There was no conscious thought, just instinct. Maybe this was what the walkers felt like. Just—absent, but somehow still existing at the same time. 

Breaths rattling along his windpipe, Carl listened to the rapid pounding of his heart in his ears. Huh, when had it ended up there? It was probably each step, inching his heart up and up until it nestled behind his eyes and fought for prominence with his brain. Shame they were both going to destroy themselves in the process. He weaved a little, barely perceptibly, and his pace slowed until he was at the rear. It was fine. He could catch up. He could—

Glancing up, his eyelashes fluttered as he saw the distorted shadows in front of him. Where—Where had his group gone? They were just—

A choked breath caught in his throat as he drew to a stop, seeing one of the shadows turn towards him. A sound echoed around him, muffled as though spoken through thick glass. Like the containment door at the CDC, impenetrable and immovable. It seemed appropriate that he was the one close to combusting now; that his timer seemed to be ticking down until inevitable destruction. 

The noise resounded again and he blinked, head twitching up a little as all the shadows seemed to fixate on him now, drawing closer. It was morbid – what wasn’t in this world? – but maybe this was death. Maybe all the others had seen this before they died. Amy. Jim. Jacqui. Sophia. Dale. Shane. T-Dog. Andrea. Hershel. Bob. Beth. Tyreese.

_Mom?_

He could hear her. He’d almost forgotten what her voice sounded like or the tentative way she would sing ‘you are my sunshine’ as she rocked him to sleep. How had he nearly forgotten? And with the photograph lost at Terminus, how long before he forgot her face? Her dark hair, her equally as dark eyes, her blinding smile. He couldn’t even look in the mirror and see her; everyone had always said that he was one-hundred percent his dad’s doppelganger. 

She was singing now. He could hear it. _You are my sunshine._ He wondered if she would have sung it to Judith. _My only sunshine._ No, he knew she would have. He tried to sing it to her instead, but it wasn’t the same and he knew it. _You make me happy._ He was lucky; he would always have that memory of Lori’s quiet voice, occasionally stilted by laughter as she squeezed him to her or proceeded to tickle him mercilessly in her arms. _When skies are grey._

Chapped lips parting, Carl watched as the shadows deepened before one loomed closer, threatening to consume him. _You’ll never know, dear._ The loud noise seemed to grow into a snarl, echoing around and around as his body seemed to tilt. _How much I love you._ Slowly, his eyes began to roll back in their sockets as the shadow reached him and he fell into darkness, caught between a distorted scream of his name and his mother’s soft voice serenading him to sleep. 

_So, please don’t take my sunshine away._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - the next and final part will be more from Rick's perspective. I hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
